of beautiful, broken boys
by pixie paramount
Summary: Grief hurts more than a knife to the heart. — Klaus/Duncan. Implied Klaus/Violet, Duncan/Violet, Quigley/Violet. AU. Gift!fic. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**STANDARD DISCLAIMER APPLIED.**

**of beautiful, broken boys  
****by:** pixie paramount (4/28/2007, 2:41 PM)  
_A Series of Unfortunate Events_, Duncan/Klaus (implied Klaus/Violet, Quigley/Violet, Duncan Violet) & and then he came back (a ghost amongst many)

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i.  
It has been _years_ since the last time they had to run.

Isadora has her own hole-in-the-wall café/book shop, of which she spends much of her time in. Duncan works on his garden, growing flowers of all shapes and sizes—in particular, violets. Quigley locks himself in his study most days.

* * *

(He thinks that African violets fit her the most; that forget-me-nots remind him everyday of how much he loves her—of who much she loves the _both of them_, him and Quigley, too—and that he'll never forget her.

There is a promise he would've made to [for her, if ever given the chance. He would've promised her—)

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Then, one day, things change.

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Klaus walks into town, clutching Sunny's hand in his tightly (like she'll fade away the moment he lets go of her). Sunny points at everything questioningly ("What's that?") and he'll smile down at her and answer her questions like a father would ("A sparrow.").

Duncan can just tell by the look in Klaus's eyes—their the same as Violets, he thinks—that something is wrong—so very wrong—despite his smile; he looks so, so sad—so lost—in the crowd. Pale like a ghost, nearly gaunt with cloths that _should_ fit but appear many sizes too big.

Sunny, on the other hand, is a ray of sunshine; dressed in a bright yellow dress—with pretty flowers, he notes the daisies and the daffodils spread sporadically along the cotton material—and a warm-looking, _fluffy_ winter coat.

There is an empty spot to Sunny's right, it's where Violet should be standing but isn't.

It hits him so hard and so suddenly—harder than he ever thought it would—that he can barely breath.

"…Klaus! Sunny! How good it is to see the both of you!"

(What he really wants to say: _Where is Violet_?)

"Fine, fine—I'm sorry to cut this short, Duncan, but I must speak to Quigley."

There is an almost wounded look to him as Sunny drifts from him and over to Duncan, staring up at the older—much taller—man before her.

Duncan smiles down at her warmly and nods his assent.

"Certainly."

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"It's good to see you, Klaus." Isadora's smile makes her pale face brighten as she looks between him and Sunny, smiling kindly.

(She's about to crack, really—it's been so long.)

"…I'll take her into the kitchen and give you three some privacy."

Klaus smiles in thank, crouching on the balls of his feet as he helps Sunny shrug out of her jacket and unwind the scarf around her neck. He stands, watching Sunny walk into the living room cautiously after taking Isadora's welcome hand.

Sunny smiles up at Isadora in the kitchen, he speech nothing but mismatched sentence—which sometimes meshes into one colossal sentence. Isadora's smile only brightens as the girl's impassioned speech grew in affect as she offered her a lollipop ("I love lollipops!" Crunch, crunch).

After a long pause, Duncan finds it in himself to speak.

"She looks a lot like her."

Klaus smile falters just a bit, "She does."

(He was always so terrible at _lying_.)

"What happened?"

"I would like to see him."

"Did something happen to—"

"She asked for him," Klaus looks like he is about to break and that is enough.

"He's upstairs." Duncan swallows, nearly choking on his next words: "I'll take you to him."

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"When did she…?"

"A month ago. I'm sorry it took so long to inform you, it was hard tracking you guys down." Klaus's eyes are hollow, like he's lost just about everything in the world, and Duncan can only imagine that Isadora is crying somewhere for him (she always loved him, she always will; her first and only).

Quigley is shaking, "I give you my thanks, Klaus, for informing me and—"

(He's polite and courteous and mourning, all he wants to do right now is scream.)

* * *

Isadora asks Klaus if he will stay for a while just to rest up after their long, strenuous ordeal; to give Sunny a chance to eat a proper meal.

Klaus agrees, reluctantly, too tired—to lost in his heartbreak—to argue any further on the matter.

(All he wants to do is rest his head on his pillow and dream that she's still alive, that they are still one big, happy family together and that this—her, _dead_—is all one big, fat lie.

He dreams and dreams and dreams and his mornings are tainted with the taste of these lies. He wakes with bitter disappointment at the world, at God—for taking her away—and at her, for leaving when she promised she wouldn't.

But when he hears Sunny's faint snoring from the other side of the cot, he can remember _why_ he (tries horribly to) lives and breathes each day.

It's for her and to give her the one thing she never had: a normal life, a family.

That is his last promise to her.)

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A day turns into five and five turns into a week and a week turns into a month and a moth turns into nearly a year.

Sunny is growing like a weed; she's beginning to look more and more like Violet with each passing day. She's got their mother's beauty and their father's hard angles.

When anyone looks into Klaus's eyes, they seem that they are just as dead as Violet's are, now.

And all they want to do is scream: _Live_.

(But it's so hard to live when the one thing you loved and cared for—the reason that you are _breathing_—is gone, forever.

Until the end of time.)  
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**To:** _Spymaster E_, 'cause you waited long enough for me to write this and I'm really, really sorry—this isn't even _real_ slash and just…gen.

**Author's Note:** Alright, let me start by saying this: this is possibly the worse thing I have ever written. Be it one-shot, drabble, or WIP.

Totally AU, totally, and completely fanon due to my own laziness. Violet's death remains a mystery because I'm lazy and uncreative that way—but, to narrow it down, all I'm saying is that it isn't suicide. My Violet isn't some emo kid in the corner. Just like my Duncan grows up to be a gardener:D

I'm excited. It's my first ever slash fic _ever_—okay, not really; _implied_ slash doesn't count, right?—and I'm uber excited on whether or not I did them, or the genre, justice (probably not). And, um, first WIP fic in a long time so...be gentle, okay?   
- pixie paramount (8/27/2007, 10:42 PM)


	2. Chapter 2

ii.

Duncan wakes up earlier than usual today.

He is met with the heat of summer and the darkness of his room; it's stifling.

He had drawn his blinds tightly since the day Klaus and Sunny arrived. He hasn't been greeted with the sun shining down upon in the early hours since _she_ died. It's only fitting, when you are in mourning.

Except for the days Sunny, on wobbly legs, jumps onto his bed, proclaiming quite clearly, "It's morning! It's morning! It's morning!" With Isadora not too far behind, not exactly hovering over the small child be ready and waiting for any possible slip in footing.

Her voice is high and squicky and airy, as youth should be. She nibbles at his fingers, blows between his ears, poking his stomach when he is stubborn. He imagines that this is youth, that this is innocent.

(She doesn't remember everything that has gone on in her short life here on earth. She can't place names or understand the things that her brother, or they, talks about.

He fears the day that will come. Soon, they all know, she will not clearly remember Violet—her sister, her foster mother—much like how she can not clearly remember their mother's voice, her sweet perfume.

And Duncan hopes, with all the Klaus talks about—them and her—, that she never will forget.)

He sluggishly crawls out of bed, a yawn erupting from his chest and shaking his bones, leaving him wide awake; his messy hair and circles under his eyes evidence of his fitful sleep.

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It is far too early in the morning to truly be awake. The sun has barely risen, the crickets still chirp in unison, and only a few birds dare to peak from the dark and sing.

He stalks down the halls, down the creaky stairs—paying careful attention not to step on the one squeaky step at the base—and past the living room, where he can clearly see Sunny sprawled on the couch. He watches her, for a long moment.

She's clutching a chewed-up doll she bought on one of her shopping trips with Isadora (probably as they where heading toward her hole-in-the-wall book shop). Her soft, breathy snores drift down the hall and sound almost like a lullaby to him.

He tries not to laugh—not too loud, anyway—as she burrows her face further into the pillow, her hair flaring about wildly; her limbs in a mess that only children and yoga instructor's can get their bodies into. He fears' waking her—of ruining this moment—because she sleeps lightly, as though still lost in that time when they had to run at a moment's call.

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The kitchen is big and roomy with many cabinets and ugly, bright yellow, with polka dots, curtains at each window. The colors burn at his eyes; he thinks it is too early and too bright and he needs coffee, _now_, it seems.

(He makes himself a quick cup; stubbing his toe against one of the cabinets as he did so.)

His skin still feels oily and he feels dirty in his old cloths—the stick in impossible places like someone lathered on glue before he put it one; his hair coming at odd angles that could rival Sunny's even as he, casually, smoothes it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the sun peeking over hilltops in the window and through those ugly drapes that Sunny chose. He sees Klaus watering his garden—

His violets.

For a moment, Duncan just stares at Klaus and sees how much he's changed from that last time (and from That Day).

His hair is longer now than it ever had been previously; Sunny likes to tug at it when he holds her close; she likes to kiss the ends and play with it like it where some kind of beloved toy. His glasses slip further and further until they hang, perilously, on the tip of his nose. He's still thin but not as gaunt or sickly looking as he first did.

Duncan can see as Klaus waters Duncan's flowers—through his posture, the gleam in his eyes, the small smile on his lips—that Klaus looks like he is alive.

(He thinks it is about time.)

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Soon, he forgets to ache.

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iii.

When Duncan kisses him—his lips are chapped and cracking unlike…_hers_—Klaus can't help but cloths his eyes and—

He thinks of Violet, in her grave, rolling around, crying.

("You betrayed me, Klaus.")

He feels disgusting and ashamed and—

A tiny, indistinguishable, part of him is pleased.

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**THE END.**

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**author's note:** So that's the end to beautiful, broken boys. For now, anyway. I'm working on a longer, edited version of this chapter, since an event that happened recently in which most of my _A Series of Unfortunate Events_ fanfics where deleted, as well as a few from my current fandoms. Most have been found while others are still missing; the edited version of this chapter(s), for instance.

It's a sucky way to announce a departure from this fandom, but one that is long over due. I hope to add onto this more, like I wanted, but due to lack of inspiration--i.e. caring--for this fandom, it looks like a long day coming. - pixie paramount (7/1/2008, 9:04 PM)


End file.
